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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421802">Yearning for a Rose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/porthaifa/pseuds/porthaifa'>porthaifa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Vulnerability</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:36:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/porthaifa/pseuds/porthaifa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dorothea has a favor to ask Yuri, he can't say no. Even when it means helping her catch the attention of another man.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorothea Arnault &amp; Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuri’s eyes never got used to the adjustment of leaving the Abyss. They watered now as he heaved open the trap door, the first streams of the morning light hitting him harshly. He hauled himself out of the floor, staggering in his blind disorientation.</p>
<p>In the moment, he reflected that not inviting the others along was a spectacular stroke of foresight--his carefully cultivated reputation couldn’t have handled witnesses to his clumsiness.</p>
<p>His internal self praise was cut short as he bumped into something soft, smelling faintly of roses. The impact caused him to promptly trip and land on his knees against cold flagstones.</p>
<p>Yuri wasn’t a religious man, but in that moment he offered up a prayer to any deity listening that the precariously stacked furniture concealing the trapdoor has suddenly developed womanly curves.</p>
<p>“Yurikins?”</p>
<p>Yuri decided it was the last time he’d pray, as he blinked away the blurriness and black spots. Her vividly green eyes came into focus first, followed by the familiar brown tresses cascading down her bare shoulders and curling gently against her pink dress. Uncertainty wavered her features as she peered down at him.</p>
<p>He offered his usual charming grin. “Hello, Dorothea. Fancy we meet here,” he said, gesturing at their meager surroundings. Despite Abyssians being given a free pass to the surface five years prior, the entrance was still the stuff of forbidden legends, tucked away in a distant closet and concealed by broken bits of furniture.</p>
<p>A reminder that the Church only merely tolerated their presence.</p>
<p>She promptly held out a hand and helped him upright, a small smile playing about her mouth.</p>
<p>Yuri had spent time--too much time--thinking about what sort of thoughts ran through Dorothea’s head when she had that expression.</p>
<p>It was different from her curated mask that she wore with a new paramour, all refined edges and girlishly timed giggles. It was like she had a joke that only she was privy to, and he hated himself for yearning to share in it.</p>
<p>He gazed at her for a moment, drinking her in. Five years ago, he had resigned himself to never seeing her again. Now she was here, constantly, filling his mind, his thoughts--</p>
<p>“Yurikins?” she repeated, now looking concerned. He blinked again, looking down to see his hand firmly entwined with hers, despite her attempts at extrication.</p>
<p>He cursed silently as he quickly dropped her hand. “Thanks,” he said casually, holding his burning hand to his chest, willing his heart to stop pounding. “That Dorothea, the premier songstress of Mittelfrank, deigned to help me off the ground, is yet another act of charity to add to your embellished name.”</p>
<p>“I don’t consider what I do ‘charity,’” she replied easily, eyes twinkling. “I sing with the orphan children because I enjoy it. I helped you just now because I consider you to be a friend.”</p>
<p>It was disarming, how clear and direct she was. Gossipers thrived off of it, whispers filling the halls of Garegg Mach, branding Dorothea a social climber, a succubus, a whore, and worse. But she never let that dilute her words.</p>
<p>He savored the word “friend” for a moment before responding.</p>
<p>“What can I do for you friend?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, unless you can point me in the direction of Balthus.”</p>
<p>Yuri’s brows shot up into his hairline. “Balthus.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she said seriously. “Tall, strapping, generally wearing minimal clothing?”</p>
<p>“I know of him, yes. What do you need with Balthus?” A creeping sense of shame in his assumption that she could only be looking for him made his neck hot. He gently loosed his high collar.</p>
<p>“Well, I decided he’s the one.”</p>
<p>“The one.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes. The one for me. To spend the rest of my days with. To bear his many children and serve dutifully as a wife.”</p>
<p>An unbidden smile crept along his mouth. “And what, Seiros willing, brought you to this conclusion?”</p>
<p>“Is it possible just to choose one reason?” she said, her own eyes crinkling with amusement now. “The first would be his vagrant lifestyle. So masculine.”</p>
<p>“Irresistible to any discerning woman.”</p>
<p>“Secondly, his accumulation of life-ruining debt. What more does a woman desire than a downtrodden man to shelter under her wings?”</p>
<p>“I can think of nothing,” he agreed, grin fully splitting his face now. They stared at one another for a moment, before simultaneously bursting out into laughter.</p>
<p>“So you are looking for me,” he said, finally catching his breath. She wiped away the mirth from her eyes, and nodded.</p>
<p>“Yes. I have a favor to ask.”</p>
<p>His stomach was dancing harder than any student at the White Heron cup had danced. “Usually people looking for favors wine and dine me first,” he said smoothly.</p>
<p>She inclined her head. “I was planning on it. Well, as close as wine-ing and dining we can get in the mess hall during breakfast.” She effortlessly slid her arm through his elbow crook and tugged him to the door. He dutifully followed, pliable in his surprise at her first touch.</p>
<p>“Am I distracting you?” she asked as they billowed down the halls, catching the attention of the soldiers and monks passing. Their flashy features had that ability.</p>
<p>Only in my dreams.</p>
<p>“From what?” He was finding it hard to concentrate when she was pressed so closely to his side, a perfect fit.</p>
<p>“I’m assuming you had a goal in leaving the Abyss so early in the morning,” she said, waving to a nearby group.</p>
<p>“Just a meal that doesn’t taste like mildew,” he answered truthfully. The full truth was that he was to bring Constance and Hapi the ‘coffee’ they had recently developed a taste for, but that could wait.</p>
<p>The world could wait for whatever Dorothea needed from him.</p>
<p>They entered the mess hall, turning heads with their joint appearance. Already the whispers started with a few scandalized priests looking in their direction.</p>
<p>“You do realize what this looks like,” Yuri murmured as he handed Dorothea a plate. He quickly filled it up with eggs and thick slices of beef sizzling with fat. The war effort was evidently going well if the Church was able to garner such provisions.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she said with no small amount of satisfaction. “That’s actually part of my favor I was going to ask. I--Yurikins, that’s too much food.”</p>
<p>He paused, setting down the third slice of bread he was preparing to pile on her plate, and frowned. “Sorry. I got carried away.” She had been looking gaunt lately, her shoulders thinner. But then again, they all had. War had its way.</p>
<p>She gave him one of her knowing smiles, and led him to a table, where they began eating.</p>
<p>“It looks like we spent the night together,” she said, as if they were continuing the same conversation. Yuri choked on his mouthful of eggs, and Dorothea slid over a goblet of water that he hastily threw back.</p>
<p>Wiping his mouth, he managed a “And is that fine?” His mind was ringing at the words “night” and “we” stringing him and Dorothea together.</p>
<p>“Oh yes,” she said with a predatory gleam in her eyes. “I need everyone to think that. Especially a certain noble looking at us at this very moment.”</p>
<p>Her gaze drifted over his shoulder, and feigning a dropped napkin, Yuri followed her focus.</p>
<p>Ferdinand von Aegir had his amber eyes fixed upon them. Yuri had never seen such an expression on the noble’s face, and frankly, always considered him a bit too dim-witted to contain feelings other than base instincts of hunger and bodily expulsion.</p>
<p>A soft hand turned his face back, and Yuri’s face flamed as he found Dorothea’s face just inches away from his own.</p>
<p>“Which brings us to my favor,” she breathed. “Be my lover, Yurikins.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>His wit seemingly flung itself out of the highest tower of Garegg Mach whenever Dorothea spoke. He tried again. “Your lover?”</p>
<p>She slid her hand off his cheek, where it left a flushed trail. Sitting back, she smirked.</p>
<p>“Just in name. I need to make progress with Ferdie, you see. I love him, as he loves me.”</p>
<p>Yuri’s disappointment curdled in his stomach like bad milk. Of course. Just in name. There was no way Dorothea, Dorothea who had risen so high above him, would ever desire anything more than friendship.</p>
<p>“If he loves you, then why is he not sharing breakfast with you?” he asked quietly.</p>
<p>“He loves me, but doesn’t know it yet,” she clarified. “Ferdie is...pure of heart. But as with all men, he contains lowly masculine traits.”</p>
<p>“Such as possessiveness,” Yuri deduced. “So you want to make him jealous and finally act on his feelings.”</p>
<p>She snapped her fingers. “This is why I like you, Yurikins. It’s hard to believe you are a man sometimes with how smart and emotionally astute you are.”</p>
<p>Yuri would have almost preferred Dorothea try to slit his throat with the bread knife. It would have had the same effect as her unassuming words had had.</p>
<p>“What’s in it for me?” Yuri said coolly, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Dorothea didn’t even consider him a contender. “My service isn’t free you know.”</p>
<p>“Quality time with me?”</p>
<p>He hated how that made his heart skip a beat.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. More pressing issues at hand you see. War being one of the things that comes to mind.” He made to stand, but Dorothea caught his sleeve, her eyes pleading.</p>
<p>“How about a performance?”</p>
<p>He stilled, the resonant singing from his memories echoing through his mind. “I’m listening.”</p>
<p>She smiled. “I know how you loved my singing, back when I was with Mittelfrank. I haven’t performed in years, not since I came to the monastery. I’ll put on a show, one to rouse the spirits of the army--any song of your choosing.”</p>
<p>Every fiber of his being was screaming no. Aiding the woman who plagued his waking thoughts and dreams into the arms of another man was pathetic, even for a do-gooder like himself. Yet, even as these thoughts ran through his mind, he looked at her hopeful face and gave a “Fine. I’m in.”</p>
<p>She yelped in laughter, jumping up and embracing him, her scent, her curves, filling his senses. “Oh Yurikins,” she sighed into his ear. “This will be something we joke about in years to come, I just know it.”</p>
<p>He wondered at that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ch. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>From Dorothea's perspective. Since she doesn't know that Yuri is head over heels for her, I thought it'd be interesting to show her side, and her misinterpretations of his obvious feelings.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dorothea has a date of sorts. “Of sorts” was the part that she was trying to figure out, standing there and staring at Yuri. He held out gloves expectantly, outfitted in more casual wear--forgoing his cloak for a light cotton shirt and pants, tucked into leather lace up boots. </p><p>“As hypnotizing as my face is, I’d like to get a move on before the day gets warmer,” he said dryly, brandishing the gardening gloves in her face again. </p><p>“When you said to meet you bright and early, I didn’t think it’d be for weeding,” she replied, reluctantly taking the gloves. She slid them on, wondering if they were a spare pair of Yuri’s. They fit perfectly. </p><p>“I did tell you to wear comfortable clothes,” he said approvingly, giving her a once over. That she did, wearing an older, thinner dress. “Sorry if it’s a hassle. I was supposed to do the Professor’s task with Constance, but you know how she can get with sunlight. You can use me however you please afterwards.”</p><p>He bent down and began pulling the weeds in the courtyard, and after a pause, Dorothea joined him. The sun was weak with the early morning hours, and there was still dew on the grass. </p><p>“You know, you really shouldn’t say things like that to a woman,” Dorothea said conversationally as she grabbed the closest chunk of snarled weeds. “Or man. It could be misinterpreted.”</p><p>He huffed a laugh as he ripped out a stubborn patch with particular relish. “I know I have nothing to worry about in terms of you misinterpreting what I say Dorothea.” His face was at an angle, and she could have sworn a shadow passed over it. But another blink, and his easy smile was back. </p><p>“So the Professor can get even you to pull out weeds,” she said, sidling closer to Yuri as they neared a hedge. A few monks passed them, early morning risers heading to their first prayer of the day. “The debonair assassin, leader of the underground, on his hands and knees doing garden work. How endearing, Yurikins.”</p><p>He swiveled his head to look at her. “You think I’m debonair?”</p><p>She raised her brows. “How would you describe yourself?”</p><p>He wiped off the beads of sweat collecting on his brow, leaving his lilac fringe side swept. Dorothea marvelled at how delicate his features were, his striking eyes offset by his perfect nose and lips.</p><p>He had forgone his usual eye liner in anticipation of the yard work, something she sorely wished she had known about if only to follow suit. She could feel her own light kohl running, and wiped away a dark splotch to her dismay. </p><p>“Well firstly, I wouldn’t call this ‘garden work,’” he said, fishing around in his trouser’s pocket. “Let’s call it ‘Battling the Green Demons that Plague Garegg Mach Monastery,’ or something to that effect.”</p><p>Dorothea laughed, a real laugh. He had a way of getting those from her. “Is this the opera? Why the need for flair and dramatism?”</p><p>He triumphantly pulled out an embroidered handkerchief, holding it out to her. “Why not? With the darkness of these times, I think it’s perfectly acceptable to play a bit in our lives.”</p><p>She sobered at this, quietly accepting the handkerchief. It was lacy, embroidered linen, yellowed with time. There was flowery stitching in the corner, spelling out a message. </p><p>“To my dearest ---,” Dorothea read. There was a rupture of stitches after the “dearest,” as if someone had ripped out the place where the name was supposed to be. </p><p>She looked at the old piece of cloth, equally crafted and cherished with love, then back to the owner who was determinedly filling a hole with dirt, avoiding her gaze. </p><p>There were questions she could have asked, about a past lover or a parent who gave him this, this handkerchief that he so carefully maintained. </p><p>But she and Yuri didn’t have that kind of friendship, the kind to pry into one another’s lives. They knew very well where they had both come from, the thorny sort of upbringing that could only come from the streets of Enbarr. It was a sealed box better left unbroached. </p><p>“Yurikins,” she settled on saying, “I can’t use this. The cosmetics won’t wash off.” She handed it back to him, and he didn’t press the issue, instead sliding back into his trousers. </p><p>“Right,” he said. “I should have thought of that. My mistake.”</p><p>She was touched that he would offer a handkerchief that he didn’t even use for himself. Dorothea gave a small smile, and Yuri offered one in return, his cheeks flushed. </p><p>“Are you alright?” she asked concernedly. “You’re quite red.” Yuri could hold his own in battle, his speed and skill unmatched, but his cream colored complexion was at risk under the now risen sun. Sliding off a glove, she laid a hand on his exposed forehead, feeling the heat coursing through his skin. </p><p>He stilled at the touch, as immobile as one of the Saint’s statues in the cathedral. </p><p>“Yurikins, you need to watch out for sun burning,” she said in an authoritative tone. “I’ve had it happen to me before and it’s painful beyond belief. You might be more at risk living in the Abyss--your skin simply isn’t used to the strength of the sunlight.”</p><p>Her mind was running ahead, thinking about the salve she had bought from the merchant after her own miserable experience, designed to both soothe and protect their fair skin. It was expensive, designed for noble ladies who wanted unmarred skin, but with her earnings from Mittelfrank she could afford it. </p><p>Dorothea had already decided to set aside a pot for Yuri as she stared at him, waiting for a reply. He said nothing, instead turning his face inwards, so her hand was now cradling his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed. </p><p>Her alarm spiked as she gripped both his cheeks now. Manuela had told her once that the sun could do more than burning, and lead to actual sickness, a lethargy and fever of the body. </p><p>“Yurikins,” she said, angling his face upwards, as she wedged herself between his knees. With a start, he opened his eyes, and they stared at each other for a moment. </p><p>“Are you feeling ill?” she asked, not removing her eyes from his. Even with her concern, she couldn’t stop herself from noticing how thick his lashes were, a gentle purple like the rest of his coloring. </p><p>No man or woman had any business being this pretty. </p><p>“I’m fine,” he said, his expression flickering quickly from surprise to a deepset mortification. “Just dozed off. Late night.”</p><p>She reluctantly released his cheeks, and gave him an evaluating stare. “Let’s go to the infirmary. Just to be sure. Manuela should be up.”</p><p>Despite her assurance, Dorothea was doubtful whether her mentor would actually be conscious before the noon bell. She steeled her resolve to break down the infirmary door, as Yuri chuckled, shedding his embarrassed look.  </p><p>“I’m fine you Mother Hen. Nothing a good meal and rest can’t fix.”</p><p>She furrowed her brows, ready to argue, before a familiar voice rounded the path, all bravado and firm optimism. </p><p>“Lorenz, you must simply tell me where you procured this latest set of tea leaves. The taste was simply divine--”</p><p>Dorothea turned her head so quickly she heard her neck crack. “It’s Ferdie,” she hissed, giving Yuri a wild-eyed stare. He looked back at her, uncomprehending. </p><p>“Isn’t that according to the plan? Our arrangement yesterday was so that he sees us together correct?”</p><p>“Yes, but not like this!” she gestured to her face, which she knew had ruined cosmetic stains collected under her eyes. “The whole point is to woo him, not terrify him.”</p><p>Yuri’s lips curved. “Dorothea, you are the most enchanting woman in the monastery. If it takes some runny eyeliner for that pompous noble to think otherwise, then you might be better off.”</p><p>Dorothea rolled her eyes as she grabbed Yuri’s hand, and tugged him through the other opening, leading to the dorms. </p><p>“As flattering as that is Yurikins, you should understand that men are delicate little doe, easily frightened at the first sight of something that deviates from the norm.”</p><p>“Men are,” he clarified, wearing his usual expression of amusement. Dorothea usually despised when men had that face--in her experience, it indicated that the man was looking down on her, finding her as entertaining as a trapped bird in a cage. But with Yuri, it was different. More genuine. </p><p>“Oh yes,” she replied, looking back at him. She knew the place they were going to by heart. “If you cut your long tresses. If you hunt, unlike the other women in their lives. If you are too tired or ill to wear your usual cosmetics.”</p><p>“If your cosmetics are running,” he finished, a new awareness in his eyes. “Any infraction against their known world disturbs them.”</p><p>She smiled. She realized why his expression of amusement didn’t infuriate her like it did with anyone else--because he took the time to listen to and understand her. In their friendship, Dorothea didn’t think Yuri belittled or condescended to her once.</p><p>Not all could be said for other men in her life.  </p><p>“Yes,” she said, facing the front once more. They were fast approaching their destination. “Women are supposed to be supple, silky packages of beauty Yurikins. We mustn’t break that preconception.” </p><p>She tried keeping her tone light, but still some darkness seeped in to her chagrin. She didn’t want to cross that carefully maintained emotional boundary of their past between them, not when Yuri seemed so fiercely protective of his secrets. </p><p>His fingers flexed inside her hands, a reassurance against her slip. “No we mustn’t,” he replied dryly. “Where are you taking us anyways?”</p><p>They came to a halt in front of familiar, oak doors. “Welcome to my humble abode,” she announced cheerfully. Letting go of his hand, she pushed her way in, the familiar sight meeting her eyes: the tidy bed, bottles and pitchers lining the shelving, with her desk neatly organized. </p><p>Flowers from the Professor adorned the window, a gift she had mixed feelings about. Flowers still drudged up memories from her Mittelfrank days--luxurious bouquets decorated with jewels of every kind trust in her hands by eager nobles. </p><p>Of course, those flowers always came with expectations attached, unlike the Professor’s gift. </p><p>She silently thanked the goddess that she organized the night before as she turned back to find Yuri lingering at her doorstep, an odd expression on his face. </p><p>“No need to wait outside like a first time admirer,” she called, slipping off her muddied shoes. She dumped them in the corner, next working on the backing of her dress. It had an older style of buttoning, a noose around each rounded seashell. </p><p>“As much as a ladies man as I am, I generally wait outside when women change their clothing,” he said delicately. “If you’ll excuse me…”</p><p>He made to close the doors, but Dorothea, contorted in an attempt to free herself from her dress, called out a muffled “Wait!”</p><p>Her arm was cramping from the odd angle it was at to loosen the top button. She was rapidly remembering why she never wore this dress--easy to don, and a horror to take off. </p><p>“Wait,” she repeated, stepping towards Yuri who looked cornered. She had never seen such an expression on his face, even when they were down to the last knives on the battlefield. “I need your help unbuttoning my backing.”</p><p>Looking like he’d rather be taking on the Imperial forces alone, Yuri slid in, closing the doors behind him. “Should I ask one of your neighbors of the female persuasion that you’re more comfortable with?”</p><p>“Petra will still be out from her pre-dawn hunt, and good luck getting Bernie to leave her room,” sighed Dorothea. “And don’t worry about my comfort. This isn’t the first time a man has removed my clothes.”</p><p>As soon as it slipped out, Dorothea wanted to utter a shriek. She needed to reassess just how comfortable she was with Yuri if she could let casual tidbits like that out during conversation without thinking twice about it. </p><p>Ferdinand’s words echoed through her head, “delicate,” “woman,” and “flower” being a few choice ones. </p><p>It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her dalliances, but she knew the nature of men, knew how they reveled in being the first to touch a woman. It was part of the reason why she guarded that part of her life, so as to not damage other’s opinions of her, those with power and access to a better future for her. </p><p>Regardless of his noble status, she realized with a jolt, Yuri’s opinion of her mattered very much. </p><p>He seemed unfazed, nodding once, and motioning for her to turn around. She mutely did so, hearing him slide off his gloves to give him better purchase on the slippery buttons. Slowly he slid her hair in front of her shoulder, handling it like a prized object. </p><p>She waited with bated breath as he gently fiddled with the top button, cursing slightly under his breath after several minutes passed. </p><p>“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this dress was made with the intent of never being taken off,” he informed her, finally freeing the top button. “I suggest donating it to the monks. Their celibate sisterhood would appreciate this fearsome line of defense.”</p><p>She gave a startled laugh, her nerves calming at his quip. “I think it may be a bit too low cut for our fine sisters. I’ll ask Hilda if she can modify it.”</p><p>“Goddess willing, it can be adjusted,” he said solemnly. They both laughed together this time, as Yuri moved to the second button. He was gentle, working the tight noose as if he had all the time in the world. </p><p>A heartbeat passed.</p><p>“Does it bother you?” she finally asked, eyes on her feet. Her stockings had a hole in them, she noted, a chore for later. “That I’ve had lovers?”</p><p>A pause. “Why should it bother me?” Yuri said, his voice sounding closer to her back as he struggled with the second button. “You should live your life as you please Dorothea. Regardless of what people have to say about it. You’ve worked hard enough to enjoy a bit of fun I say.” </p><p>His voice enveloped in her in its warmth, and for the first time in years, Dorothea felt a lump in her throat. Her vision blurred as he gave a crow of triumph, freeing the second button and moving to the next. </p><p>“It bothers most people.” She was proud of the fact that her voice remained solid. “They don’t like the fact that I...I…”</p><p>“Have desires?” he murmured, freeing another button. She could feel the cool hair of his breath on her exposed back, and her hairs raised.</p><p>“Yes,” she breathed. His scent was easy to catch, clean and crisp, with a floral finish. She couldn’t think of a time when she had discussed this with anyone. Her fellow singers at Mittelfrank had shied away from the topic, an unspoken service to their noble benefactors, and Manuela generally digressed into her own sordid tales of love affairs. </p><p>He hummed. “It’s simple for people who look down on you to think you have no free will.” He tugged open another button, getting used to the task. “It’s easier to fit inside the molding in people’s minds you see. Like what you were talking about earlier. A dashing knight. A dainty songstress. It’s difficult for people to view one another in more complex terms.”</p><p>She nodded, as he got to work on the bottom button. “Like for example,” he continued, “the dashing knight is actually suffering from a bout of alcoholism. And wants to break away from the knighthood.”</p><p>She chortled. “That’s depressingly complex. Maybe we’re better off with the surface level views.”</p><p>“Not at all. Flaws are what makes us human. Though your desires aren’t a flaw.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“No,” he said firmly, tugging hard on the last button which refused to budge. “They’re what makes you...well, you. Just Dorothea.”</p><p>“Just Dorothea,” she repeated. Not the Songstress of Mittelfrank. Not the commoner in the Black Eagle House. No label. </p><p>“Yes,” he said simply. “And to me, you--”</p><p>With a sudden ripping noise the button freed, tearing down a path to her undergarments with the force of Yuri’s ministrations. His fingers brushed her lower back before he quickly snatched them back as if burned. </p><p>Holding the front of her dress up, she turned to find him pushing through the entrance. </p><p>“I’ll wait outside,” he said, not looking at her, before the doors shut with the aged groaning noise. </p><p>Dorothea stood there for a good long while before finally getting dressed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Self-loathing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dorothea meets Yuri on his turf, with some lessons about self-love. Also some hints of Hapi/Lin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were not enough hours in the day, Yuri decided, as yet another Abyssian came to him with an immediately pressing issue. His plea for help was standard enough--his comrade had cheated him out of ten pieces of gold during a drunken gamble. </p>
<p>“Do you have witnesses?” Yuri asked, placing his chin on his hand. To bystanders, it looked thoughtfully contemplative, but in reality his neck was started to cramp from hours of this. </p>
<p>“I don’t remember,” the man said, his ruddy face turning redder. “I was dead drunk. <em> But </em>I definitely remember he owes me money. You gotta help me out Boss.”</p>
<p>“If you were drinking, then ask the cook,” Yuri replied boredly. “He’s got the keenest eye underground. If he didn’t witness it, then he’ll remember who was there that night. You’ll get your witnesses.”</p>
<p>“Thanks Boss,” the man said gratefully, pressing his hammy fists together. “You’re the best leader.”</p>
<p>Yuri waved him away, and reclined against the rickety chair, staring up at the stone ceiling of the classroom. </p>
<p>Silence. At last. </p>
<p>He exhaled as he stretched, idly wondering what time it was--not yet lunch, but well past breakfast. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the peace and quiet, his head lolling over the back of the chair. </p>
<p><em> Debonair assassin, leader of the underground. </em>The man’s adulation drudged up thoughts he had been trying to suppress for days now, since he last saw Dorothea. He wasn’t sure who had been putting the distance between them--she would be well within her rights to be on edge after he nearly tore her dress off. </p>
<p>Her<em> dress. </em>He pinched the bridge of his nose as the memory of Dorothea’s stunned expression came back to haunt him, her eyes wide between the closing doors. Despite his profuse apologies, there was a lingering awkwardness as they ate together afterwards, and as they parted ways. </p>
<p>That was over a week ago now. </p>
<p>He knew that both men and women employed at Mittelfrank traded favors for their bodily assets. The opera was about sheer beauty, both in face and voice, and the company’s roster was nothing short of stunning. And nobility….his lips curled. Nobility loved pretty birds. </p>
<p>He wondered what ran through her mind as he tore her dress. The silent violence in the act. </p>
<p>
  <em> You’re not the first man to remove my dress.  </em>
</p>
<p>Her admission made him feel closer to her, the little parcel of her past that she deemed him worthy of knowing. But in the same breath he felt fury at those who made her ashamed of it, ashamed of her living her truth. </p>
<p>The image of her stunned expression flashed in his mind again. At her bare shoulders. At the silkiness of her creamy skin that his bare fingers touched. </p>
<p>The hint of her undergarments, dark and lacy. Of what lay past that. </p>
<p>He groaned, putting both hands over his face. He was no better than the men of her past if he let thoughts like these consume him. </p>
<p>“Got a headache man?”</p>
<p>For such a hulking frame, Balthus was surprisingly stealthy. Yuri cracked open an eye to see his friend standing over him, toothy grin splitting his face. </p>
<p>“Hello Balthus,” he sighed, sitting upright. “And hello Hapi.” The woman’s red hair and eyes preceded her as she emerged from a dimly lit corner, curiosity on her face. </p>
<p>“It must be tiring listening to all those petitions,” she observed, sitting on a desk. She swung her legs back and forth. “We keep telling you to stop hanging out here after breakfast. Abyssians now think it’s a place to find you and complain.”</p>
<p>Balthus nodded his agreement. “Yeah man! Just leave them to duke it out on their own. Who cares?”</p>
<p>“Yuri does,” Hapi said, her voice flat as ever. </p>
<p>“I do not,” countered Yuri. “It just becomes a bigger annoyance if we have Abyssians beating each other in every corner. The church barely tolerates us as it is.”</p>
<p>Hapi tilted her head, her eyes all knowing. “That did absolutely nothing to disprove my statement that you care. If anything, it emphasized how much you do care. About the fate of the Abyss and all that.” She fluttered a delicate hand in the air, as if to encompass the rest of what entailed running an underground society. </p>
<p>Yuri pinched his nose for the second time. “Do you need something from me?”</p>
<p>“There’s a pretty lady lookin for ya,” Balthus casually said, picking up a broken chair leg. He gave it a once over, as if to repurpose it. “What’s her name...Doo...Dotsy…”</p>
<p>“Dorothea,” Yuri and Hapi said at the same time. Yuri’s throat was dry as Hapi fixed him with another knowing look. “She’s looking for me?”</p>
<p>Hapi nodded, her eyes still on Yuri. He was never one to squirm under scrutiny, but Hapi had a way of seeing things, that at the moment, he’d rather keep private. </p>
<p>“She’s at the Wilting Rose,” Balthus helpfully added, now breaking the solid chunk of wood in two with his bare fists. Yuri casually rose, carefully timing himself so as to not look too eager. He leisurely brushed off the front of his trousers for good measure. </p>
<p>“I’ll see you two later,” he said, turning to leave. Balthus gave him a distracted nod, still inspecting the wood pieces, but Hapi trailed after him, down the flickering corridor. </p>
<p>“So Dorothea Arnault huh?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Damn.  </em>
</p>
<p>Yuri closed his eyes briefly to steel himself. He turned to look at Hapi who fell into step beside him, a faint smile forming on her face. </p>
<p>“We’re working on a project together,” he said easily. “Teaching singing to the church orphans.” Those who lived in the Abyss didn’t have much of a pulse on the ongoings of the surface. It was part of the reason why he didn’t tell anyone about him and Dorothea’s...arrangement. There was no need for prying he figured, especially from people like Constance. </p>
<p>And the thought of keeping Dorothea to himself for as long as he could...a small part of him purred at the idea.</p>
<p>Hapi trotted to keep up as they climbed the stairs. “Keep your secrets if you want Yuri-bird. But you know I’m here to listen if you ever want to talk.”</p>
<p>His gut wrenched in guilt. What would he even say to Hapi? That he fantasized about a woman who was leagues out of his reach? That he loathed himself for even desiring her in the first place--him, a filthy hand for hire who never outgrew his boot licking roots?</p>
<p>He settled for giving her a smile. “Thanks Hapi. I know.”</p>
<p>The inn was empty, save for the early day drinkers grousing about their lot in life. The two peered their heads in. </p>
<p>“Balthus definitely said the Wilting Rose right?” Yuri asked, as they stepped out. The Abyss Keeper gave them a surly nod which they both returned. </p>
<p>“Yes but…” Hapi tilted her head, as if trying to hear something. After a moment, Yuri heard it too. </p>
<p>Singing. </p>
<p>Unearthly, beautiful singing, floating down the halls, coming from the library. Even the Abyss Keeper’s sour look was rubbed away at the notes. </p>
<p>Yuri’s feet were moving before his brain could process just whose singing it was, his feet remembering the similar steps he took on the streets of Enbarr, following that same voice. </p>
<p>
  <em> Dorothea.  </em>
</p>
<p>She sat perched on the edge of the library railing, singing to both enraptured Abyssian orphans and scholars alike. All faces, young and old were mesmerized by her song, one of loneliness and lost love. </p>
<p>Time extended with her voice, Yuri thought. Nothing was real, nothing permanent except for the song Dorothea sang. Tears dripped down the Abyss Keeper’s face who had pushed his way next to Yuri. For once, Yuri understood him. </p>
<p>She finished, her face pink to thunderous applause. The children leapt on her with praise, and the adults clapped wildly. Yuri tried to arrange his face coolly, but he knew awe was etched in his features. </p>
<p>A green head bobbed closer to Dorothea. Lindhardt. The only one who willingly spent more time in the Abyss than he had to, poring over tattered and forbidden tomes. He raised his hand, and Dorothea made her way to him, a brilliant smile on her face. </p>
<p>Yuri’s heart twisted at the sight, jealousy pooling in his belly like rancid oil. He forced himself to look away. It was for the best. It was for the best that she take her pick from shining nobles like the pompous Ferdinand, or even the bizarre Lindhardt. </p>
<p>All people with bright, stable futures. Uncluttered pasts. No baggage to hurt her. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry,” Hapi said at his side. Her eyes were tracking the two Black Eagle students. “There’s nothing happening there.”</p>
<p>Yuri’s juvenile feelings sharpened his tongue. “It’s nothing to me even if there was.”</p>
<p>Hapi raised her brows as if to say ‘whatever.’ The Abyss Keeper to their left was still wiping tears away from his eyes. </p>
<p>“That lady is a goddess,” the man managed, his furs shaking with his emotions. </p>
<p>Yuri looked at Dorothea, who finally noticed him. Pure, unadulterated happiness spread across her face as she waved at him, the act evaporating the ugly feelings twisting his innards. </p>
<p>“Yes,” he agreed, giving her a smile in return. “That she is.”</p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>“I’m offended you didn’t bring me down here sooner, Yurikins,” Dorothea pouted as she leaned back against the railing. They were on the upper level in the library for a bit more privacy after her admirers dispersed. Snatches of an argument between Hapi and Linhardt--something about Crests--floated up to them. </p>
<p>Yuri’s gloved fingers trailed along the dusty spines of the books lining the wall. “I didn’t think it was exactly your type of place, ladybird.”</p>
<p>Good, good. He was doing an excellent job of maintaining his composure after her performance, his voice steady and playful as always. Still, he could feel the heat on his cheeks, and kept his face turned away until the color faded. </p>
<p>“There’s a certain sort of...<em> romance </em>in place like these,” she said wistfully. “Ancient. Untouched by society’s hierarchy, or the church’s rules. It feels...peaceful. Natural.”</p>
<p>“Like home,” he said quietly, finally looking at her. She was balancing on her hands, face tilted upwards, looking like a painting. “It feels like home.”</p>
<p>A soft smile warmed her features. “I can see why you love it so.”</p>
<p>He grimaced. “That’s the second time today someone accused me of having feelings for this place.”</p>
<p>A laugh that made his stomach lurch. “You seem to have difficulty dealing with feelings, Yurikins.”</p>
<p>There was a pregnant pause, as Yuri wrestled with what to say. No? That he was a master of concealing his feelings, specifically the ones that riled inside him every time she looked at him?</p>
<p>“I must apologize,” Dorothea said, chewing her lip. Yuri started, and knit his brows together in confusion. </p>
<p>“For last week,” she clarified. “I shared a bit of my past that I’m not sure you were asking for. I don’t want to upset the balance in our friendship.”</p>
<p>“The balance?” The dress ripping. His knuckles brushing against her bare skin. Her lace--</p>
<p>
  <em> Enough. Focus.  </em>
</p>
<p>She leaned forward, her mouth twisting apprehensively. “I disclosed too much. I must admit that I’ve been keeping a distance since then--I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Whether you would feel comfortable proceeding with our agreement.”</p>
<p>“Why would telling me more about yourself make me uncomfortable?” </p>
<p>She raised her brows. “Being honest Yurikins, you keep people at an arm’s length. I figured you would want to do the same with me--and that I should act accordingly.”</p>
<p>He was stunned. She wasn’t avoiding him out of fear, or disgust but rather concern if she had tarnished their relationship. He tamped down the kernel of hope, trying not to think about the implications of Dorothea <em> caring </em>about the strength of their relationship. </p>
<p>“The handkerchief is from my mother.”</p>
<p>She stiffened at his quiet admission, her green eyes finding his own. “Your mother. Did she pass?” she asked quietly. </p>
<p>He shook his head. “I suppose I only have myself to blame that you think that. I don’t talk about her much. She lives in Faerghus, in the same poor little town that I was raised in.”</p>
<p>“Just your mother?”</p>
<p>“That’s right. Never a father in the picture, at least not one that I know of. Even my mother she--” He paused, unsure of if he should continue. With an encouraging nod from Dorothea, he said “I’m not sure if she’s my birth mother. This Crest that I have...it raises more questions than I’d like.”</p>
<p>“Blood isn’t everything,” Dorothea said firmly. “Take it from me. Regardless of if she birthed you, I can tell you love your mother very much. You’re lucky to have her.”</p>
<p>He stepped closer, shame seeping through his expression. “I must sound like a brat wondering if my mother birthed me. At least--”</p>
<p>“At least you have a living mother?” Dorothea finished, a dark humor twinkling in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Yurikins. I won’t begrudge you for having someone in the world who loves you. You deserve it to be loved.”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t.” The easy words hung heavy between them, and his eyes widened as he realized what he said. Her eyes narrowed, the way they did on the battlefield when she had a foe in her crosshairs. </p>
<p>“Yes,” she said, grounding out the words, “you do. You, Yurikins, have a problem. And it’s not being unlovable.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” he said, trying to interject a bit of lightheartedness into the atmosphere. Her foul countenance didn’t budge. “I’m sure the Premier Songstress of Mittel--”</p>
<p>“Don’t do that,” she hissed, and he instantly shut his mouth. “Don’t deflect with your self-deprecating humor. We’re no different, you and I. Don’t try to put lines between who you are and who I am. Not after what you told me last time--how you viewed me.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Just Dorothea.  </em>
</p>
<p>They were nose to nose, and Yuri realized that Dorothea must have forgone her usual heels as their eyes were evenly matched. She seemed to have the same realization, and stood an inch taller, balancing on her toes. He would have laughed if not for her fearsome expression. </p>
<p>“Do tell as to what my problem is,” he murmured, watching his breath rustle her fine hairs. His hand itched to brush them aside delicately, for his fingers to trace her jaw, then cradle her face. </p>
<p>He could have stared at her for ages. </p>
<p>“You’re self-loathing,” Dorothea whispered, their proximity muting their voices. “I am telling you that you’re worthy of love, Yurikins, despite what you’ve done in your past for survival. You just need to love yourself first to think so.”</p>
<p>His throat burned, and he broke eye contact, bending his head downwards. </p>
<p>To think he was worthy of love. To think Dorothea Arnault, admired by all of Enbarr, considered him worthy of love. </p>
<p>Perhaps there was merit to what she insisted. </p>
<p>A soft hand cupped his chin, turning his face upwards. “Yurikins.” He couldn’t tell if it was a statement, or a question. Her face was serious, mouth firmly set. </p>
<p>Waiting.</p>
<p>“I understand,” he whispered. “I can’t promise that I can abandon my ‘self-deprecating’ ways quite yet. But I will try.”</p>
<p><em>For you</em>, he thought, as happiness shone on her face like the sun’s first rays at dawn. <em>I can try for you. </em></p>
<p>Tension he didn’t realize he was holding released from his shoulders, and he could have sworn her own posture relaxed in tandem. She gave him another soft smile that he was dangerously close to thinking was reserved for him as she drew closer. </p>
<p>“Sorry to interrupt,” a bored voice drawled. They both jumped, and quickly separated, Dorothea bumping into the bannister, and Yuri doing the same against the bookshelves. His elbow smarted from the hit, and he gripped it tightly. </p>
<p>“Lin,” Dorothea said, her hand on her chest as if to quiet her heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”</p>
<p>The green haired noble looked unruffled as always, Hapi just a step behind him in the gloom. “We have class with the Professor, Dorothea. Just thought I should remind you.”</p>
<p>“What?” Dorothea moved quickly, gathering her bags. “I thought that was delayed for the war council?”</p>
<p>“I believe they are combined,” Lin replied, his heavy lidded eyes already fluttering as if the effort of conversation was too taxing. “Strategize for Ailell in a few weeks, and teach us students some lessons at the same time. Efficient in time allocation I suppose.”</p>
<p>Hapi rolled her eyes with Dorothea mimicking the act. She gave a cursory glance around, and settled on Yuri. </p>
<p>“Yurikins,” she said apologetically. “I came down here to ask if you wanted to help put on another show for the Church orphans. This time it’ll be something more like a play.”</p>
<p>“A play,” he said, aware of Hapi’s eyes boring holes into him. “Sure, ladybird. Whatever you need help with.” He delivered the line with a casual affection, hoping the effect was smooth instead of desperate. </p>
<p>She beamed, reaching over to take his hand. He could feel her warmth through his glove. “Thanks Yurikins. Ferdie is helping out too you know. It’s...a good opportunity.”</p>
<p>Reality crashed through him in the form of long orange tresses and a pompous laugh. </p>
<p>Ferdie. Of course. Their arrangement. </p>
<p>He nodded silently, and she released his hand, rushing past Linhardt and Hapi. The green haired man made to follow, but then as if checking a task off a list, turned around and kissed Hapi right on the lips. </p>
<p>She seemed unsurprised, instead leaning into his thin form, and deepening the kiss, her brown hands entwining in his loose hair. Yuri watched, wondering if there was ever a chance for him to reattach his jaw which currently lay on the floor.</p>
<p>Hapi’s words filtered through his mind. <em>Don’t worry. There’s nothing happening there.</em> Indeed. </p>
<p>After what seemed like an eon later, the two parted, their expressions no different prior to their unchaste union. Lindhardt bobbed his head once in Yuri’s direction as he stood stunned, then shuffled off after Dorothea. </p>
<p>Hapi nonchalantly joined Yuri, fingers skimming the shelves. “What?” she said, noticing Yuri’s stare. “We argued, and had to make up.”</p>
<p>“Naturally,” he managed, noting the barest hint of pink on her cheeks. “Though when I argue with my classmates, I generally don’t lock tongues with them in apology.”</p>
<p>Hapi tucked a red lock behind her ear. “No? You looked pretty close to doing just that with Dorothea when we came up. Though you insisted there was nothing going on there.”</p>
<p>Yuri’s smile was wiped off his face. “It was just business. You know, about the Church orphans.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Hapi replied, her eyes bright with mischief. “‘<em>Teaching singing to the Church orphans</em>,’ you said? Though she made no mention of that.”</p>
<p>He swallowed, changing tacks. Anything to get off this topic, and away from Hapi’s knowing face. “Back to a certain, green haired noble. Anything you want to tell me, oh friend of mine?”</p>
<p>Hapi made a show of thinking, her fingers on her chin. “Not that I can think of. Oh wait…” She clapped her hands once and drew closer. “Yes, there is one thing.”</p>
<p>Yuri leaned in, anticipation running through his veins. “Yes?”</p>
<p>Hapi brought her mouth to his ear, hand up in a conspiratorial manner. “You,” she whispered, her breath hot, “have got it bad for Dorothea Arnault.”</p>
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